Movie Night Special
by Satski
Summary: Dave: Spend thousands of dollars. Make it happen. Dave is going to propose to his boyfriend and it's going to be the nerdiest, most awful thing in the world.


Famous director, Dave Strider, age 31.

He's going to do this, Dave Strider is going to ___propose_ to his college sweetheart and it's going to be the ___best_, most ___romantic _proposal in the whole Californian state.

Except not really because he's dating the biggest dork in the universe.

== Dave: pull some strings.

You're Dave, and you're pulling all the strings, you might as well change your name to Mr. Rogers with all the puppeteer shit going on. You've spent the last three months busting your ass to set up a little something.

A little something that if deployed correctly could produce a lifetime of happiness.

You're currently negotiating with a big time television station to let you air a not so big time movie special, which is harder to do than you would think for such a big name director such as yourself. You guess it's because the movie in question brings in ratings by the negatives. You get shot down but you don't let it get to you, Dave Strider is resilient if anything.

After going down the list of about five big stations, you decide to change your course of action and approach a little local station and get accepted the moment your name is uttered. You just hope they don't regret it before the week is over.

== Dave: patiently await the moment.

John is currently bouncing every which way and there's nothing you can do to stop him, not like you ___want to_. You're Dave Strider and you're the complete opposite of patient. You're so frozen in fear of it all backfiring that you can't even spare a moment to shake in your wife beater and boxer combination.

You're currently sitting on the edge of your loveseat in front of the flat screen, uncomfortable at the fact that you may or may not be currently sprawled on top of a little black box. This is obviously not one of your best ideas.

John is all over the living room, babbling in excitement at what you are both about to watch.

"Dave, ___Dave_, can you believe my luck?" he jumps on your lap and you have to hold back the scream tearing through your throat as the box is pointier than your ass can appreciate, "They're airing a special 30 year anniversary Con Air special with never before seen commentary by the director ___and_ main actors! Right on my ___birthday_ too, like wow Dave what did I do to-" the dork intakes a breath and Dave can't even tell him to shut up in all his nervousness, "deserve this great birthday present?"

___'Ten minutes before take off.'_

== Dave: Stop worrying, it's already started.

The movie may be about halfway done, but your jitterring is only just starting.

The movie has currently cut to commercials and John went to get some more popcorn but you'll doubt either of you will eat it in a few minutes.

John comes back to sit next to you, legs sprawled on your lap as he sets the big buttery bowl between the two of you. He snatches a couple kernels in his hand as director Simon West and terrible actor Nic Cage come on screen.

This is ___it._ You're about to ruin your whole life and these two men will be the start of it all.

Simon West starts it off, "Well, I wasn't going to air this movie ever again but then a big hotshot director really got to me."

Nic chuckles to his right and adds on, "Yeah, I completely thought any hype this movie could cause would be done with. This guy really wanted to air it one more time though, I was skeptical."

John is completely engrossed into the conversation and Dave can just ___hear_ clocks ticking all around him. It's not the best feeling in the world.

"Then he told me the ___real_ reason why he wanted to bring this movie back from the DVD clearance bin and really, who am I to deny a guy his chance?" Simon says, Dave internally groans.

"Here's some words from the big guy who made this 30 year anniversary special possible!" clapping comes from both men on screen and Dave shuts his eyes as fast as humanly possible, attempting to avoid all feelings of embarrassment.

You can hear the ___plip, plip, plip_ of a stereotypical movie countdown and it calms you down just a bit, just enough to open your eyes and stare back at yourself on screen. It's just a bit strange to see yourself in your pasty, freckled glory but you let it slip. You're a director, not an actor.

"Hey, uhh, this is Dave Strider..." television Dave glances every which way, god you're so ___nervous_ and it's so ___uncool_, why did you even think this was a good idea ever. "I'm doing all this shit for a reason so I guess I should get to it and not, you know, start rambling 'cause that shit be whack. Rambling is definitely not where the hot shit is at, nope." You're rambling, you're rambling, you're 100 per cent ___rambling_, "So yeah. uhh, hey Johnny bad taste in movies Egbert, you should totally, you know, uhhh, marry me... ___no homo_." You want to cry, you've been in a completely homosexual relationship for almost ten years and no homo jokes are definitely not the best thing to add to a completely homo marriage proposal.

You avoid looking at John for as long as possible, that is until he stands up abruptly and it ___startles_ you just a bit as the popcorn tumbles to the carpeted ground. Not scares, because that's totally not what you're feeling at the potential '___no_' that might come out of John's mouth.

== Dave: be Johnny Egbert.

That's not really you, but Dave calls you lame names whenever he tries ___really_ hard to be cool. You'll let it slide this time.

___No, you won't_.

"It's very sweet of you to propose to your ___man_tress on television Dave, but shouldn't you be watching this with ___Johnny_ and not, you know, ___John_ here?" You say, not looking down at Dave in fear of blowing your joke with a goofy smile. He skitters to your direction, frantically trying to get words out in explanation as the forgotten movie lights up his face.

"John, no, you're my only butt buddy, what, ___fuck_." Oh man, you turn towards him and he looks like he's going to have a panic attack! You should probably do something. "I even got the ring and it's not even from that twenty-five cent ring dispenser shit we see going out of the shitty grocery sto-" You decide to promptly cut him off. "-Dave. Dave. It's-"

Whoa.

Is... is he sliding the ring out of his ___ass_? Was he expecting you to toss his salad later tonight or-

You'd rather not finish that thought.

== Dave: propose out of your butt.

___What_? That's pretty fucking sick, why would you even do that?

Okay, so the ring box might have gotten shoved up your ass but that doesn't mean you ___planned_ it.

You also didn't plan John to get angry, but whatev.

No sweat.

At all.

Really.

Not really.

You're freaking the fuck out.

"I swear you are the only Con Air appreciating loser in my ___world_, Egbert." John is finally looking at you, which is good, but then you notice his face and ___oops_. You guess digging up your backside isn't the most romantic combination to go with your words.

"Don't look at me like that, this isn't as weird as you think it is. I'm wearing ___boxers._" You say, frantic fingers clutching the velvety onyx as you keep on speaking.

"The little thing just kinda ended up there." Yeah, that's good, you don't sound too crazy, "You know the only thing I want up my butt is your wooden truncheon, bro." Okay, you sound like a loser that will never get laid, but you can think of worse things John has called his dick so you keep going.

"Can we do the die old together deal? What else do you want me to do? Compose a country love song, create a photo gallery of our times together, get you a dog? Because I will do that shit, I'll do all the composing of Taylor Swift-esque lyrics, all the hipster myspace angle galleries, and dog adopting you could ever want, John. Just say the word. I am the peanut butter at the mercy that is your hot butter knife, waiting to be slathered on in any way you want."

== John: be a little touched.

That's ridiculous! Dave knows you're allergic to peanut butter.

"Dave... I'm... but..." He shuts you up as he shoves the box into your big, bucktoothed mouth.

"John, it's okay, I'm a homosexual too."

"Dave, wha-"

"Shoosh little babe, I'll be your farmer Arthur." Your ___fiance_ is making pig movie references, your life is over.

What are you getting yourself into.


End file.
